


Have You Considered (it could be better?)

by Wixom (SunlitDarkness)



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Factor (Comics), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Food, Learning curves, M/M, Self Care, accepting people into your life, chosen names, especially when your partner struggles with mental health, learning self care for yourself and your partner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-04 22:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitDarkness/pseuds/Wixom
Summary: If someone else treated you the way you treat yourself—the way you treat your body—would you keep them in your life?Being alive is supposed to feel good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I just want people to have good things in their lives. Self care my friends.

Of all the orders Shatterstar has ever recieved, this is the strangest. Difficult and awkward and so exposing of his dissonance with Earth.

_Take care of your body. Be kind to it._

It’s not as if those words have never left his mouth in reference to others. 

Not as if he hasn't said them in annoyance when caring for Rictor. 

Not that he didn’t glare them at Madrox after the idiot let himself get hit with an optic blast. A wise and resourceful decision that helped odds immensely. But also a decision with consequences that non-healing-factor bodies must recover from. Madrox had had an ugly red-black bruise from collarbones to sternum after the dupes reabsorbed.

Care and kindness are strengths in themselves.

A strength that Statterstar often finds himself lacking.

That is why they function as a team, to make stronger what an individual lacks. Shatterstar does not have to be the kind nor the caring one of the team.

Little has been easy in his life, but letting someone else be soft is.

He much prefers it that way.

* * *

Except, it is not enough. Not anymore.

It is not enough to let himself be aloof and untouched by pain and trauma and rough treatment. He is effective with the body. With the flesh vessel as one character on TV jokingly called it. Shatterstar manages his body just fine.

And Rahne has determined that it is not enough.

There is still blood drying around his fingers when she hauls him through the shitty motel their group is staying in for the week. 

It is not a home, not even close. But there is a snide part of him that’s amused by Darwin and Madrox having to share a queen bed in the room. They leave him the other bed where he spends far too much of the night texting Rictor.

But tonight he’s dragged into the other room they’ve rented and Rahne’s nails are not quite claws, but they dig into his wrist too harshly for comfort.

“Sick of your carelessness, Shatty.”

“I did what had to be done. We are all still standing because of that.”

Rahne glowers at him. Her teeth are too long for a human mouth and the skin around her nose is rough and dark. One ear twitches, and Shatterstar is briefly distracted by wondering if she can wiggle her ears fully human.

“We were **not** all standing when we left there, Shatterstar. You were bleeding. You were on the ground. M had to carry you back to the truck. You can stand now, but that’s not the same.”

“I am standing now,” Shatterstar glares down at Rahne. They’ve since stopped moving, and Rahne’s grip is still digging into his arm.

“Just because you _heal_ does not give you the right to injure your body like that!”

“It is my body and it behaves as I ask it to.”

“NONE OF THE REST OF US ARE ASKING YOU TO.” Rahne has surprising strength when she yanks his arm and stands close, face to face. Her eyes are bright and for all her rage, Shatterstar can see imitations of concern and worry.

“You do not have to ask.”

Rahne digs in her nails; blood welling between her fingers. Not that there isn’t still blood drying on his own.

“You are going to sit in the chair. And you are going to let me show you care, Shatty.” Rahne’s voice rumbles low.

Shatterstar stares at Rahne, and she stares back. For an instant, he realizes this is the way she stared down Rictor. She has an unpleasant knack for it.

Shatterstar moves with obviously telegraphed actions to fold the body into the rolling desk chair. It squeaks unpleasantly and the one arm is gone. Rahne releases him, moving around behind him to roll the chair into the vanity area. It is ridiculous that they did not move the chair in before he seated himself, but Rahne seems amused at how easy he is to push.

“We’ll wash you up. Self-healing isn’t self-cleaning,” she murmurs, more gentle. Less furious.”Have I told you about the countryside?”

The washcloth is rough on his face. Rahne rubs at the corners of his eyes and up across the left ear. He flinches when she moves on that side, but she ignores him. Her voice is rough and sometimes her laughter at herself is more bark than guffaw. But she tells him about the differences in the Scottish grass from that of Westchester and Kentucky and that one time she was in Colorado.

She digs out a stiff bristled cleaning brush from her bag, wets it with hand soap and water, and aggressively scrubs at the blood on his hands with it. The brush scrapes and makes grating sounds that almost overshadow Rahne’s voice that talks about the differences in alley cat scent marks and feral dogs and desensitized coyotes.

It’s soothing in a sense.

Rahne doesn't dry his face nor his hands and just drops a towel in his lap, jerking her head towards the shower. He hears the room door click shut after he's turned on the water, and she leaves a bundle of his sharply folded clothes outside the door when he's finished.

“Thank you, Rahne,” Shatterstar tells her while he towels his hair. The actual motel room is dark and the lights from the vanity reflected in her eyes. He doesn't ask where M is. “This was unnecessary though.”

She shrugs and digs through her duffle bag again. Reappearing to his right side, Rahne sets a bottle of lotion on the counter and applies it to herself. It is late and he acknowledges that he has probably overstayed his welcome and intruded on her night routines. He turns to leave and is greeted with the heavy thump of Rahne's tail against the back of his legs. She is more wolfish for a moment when he meets her gaze in the mirror before the fur melts away and she goes back to rubbing lotion across her cheeks.

“Yes?”

“Put on the lotion, Shatty. It'll be fine.”

He scowls. “I do not wish to smell feminine. I smell fine.”

“This is unscented. Kinda smells sweet, but mostly unscented. You'll be fine. Put it on.” She taps a finger against her nose and wiggles her ears completely human.

“Why?”

Rahne shrugs, readjusting the shoulders of her sweater. “It might make you feel good. Take care of your body. Be kind. I'd say specifically that patch where you put your sword through your shoulder.”

“My body does not need this Rahne. Why should I?”

Rahne turns and meets his gaze. “Never said anything about needs. This is a gift. Your body works hard. Reward it.”

Shatterstar meets her gaze evenly. “If I put on the lotion, am I free to go?”

“Yes. You are also free to go without it. I think you may like it, but it’s your choice.”

Shatterstar glances once at his reflection in the vanity before turning on his heel and making his way to the other room. Rahne follows him out, turning the opposite direction and running. The slaps of her feet eventually morph into a clicking run of claws on concrete.

He keys in and drops his uniform on the bathroom floor beside that fekting awful coat Madrox wears. At least now Madrox might not wear it with the hand-sized chunk torn off the hem.

“How’d it go?” Madrox is chewing on a pencil, slumped underneath the only lamp in the room.

“Fine. What are you doing?”

Madrox holds up the magazine in his lap to show Shatterstar the logic puzzles cover. Shatterstar snorts, assuming that there’s a pornographic magazine tucked into the pages; both television and reality have seemed to indicate that trend. Madrox frowns and shakes the book by the spine. Nothing falls out.

“My parents had dozens of books like this. It’s soothing to work on puzzles with defined answers.”

Shatterstar nods once before peeling off his socks and dropping onto his bed. His shoulder aches even though he _knows_ it is healed. When he rubs his fingers across it, he can feel the difference between the new skin and the old skin.

Shatterstar texts Rictor until the other falls asleep.

Shatterstar sleeps facing the window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you really a family if you don't bicker in public?  
> Food and found family!  
> X Factor Investigations is pleasantly rowdy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear Ric's actually gonna show up in this fic. We're just, not at home with him yet.
> 
> Warning for this specific chapter that there's a LOT of discussion about food and eating habits.

It is relieving to notice his entire team count doors, windows, and cameras when they enter the IHOP across the parking lot the next morning. There's only 5 of them so they are urged into a booth against the windowed wall with a chair pulled up.

Rahne raises her eyebrows in question at M, lifting her hands for a game to determine who sits at the head in the chair. Shatterstar does not let the relief show on his face as he slides into the booth after Darwin, but not having to have his back to open room is a benefit. As is having Darwin on his left, where the eye does not see the same as normal humans.

Before the waitstaff leaves, Madrox mentions that his twin will be joining them shortly. The smacking sounds of M and Rahne's game pause, and both of them stare at him with narrowed eyes before M sinks into the chair. Rahne crosses her arms and snorts when Madrox squeezes her elbow before making his way to the restroom back at the front of the restaurant. Rahne drops unceremoniously into the booth to wait.

“I get why he does this, but I do not want to sit between **two** of him!”

Darwin and M nod, and Shatterstar's eyebrows creep together a little more. “Why Madrox does what?”

M looks him over, and both Darwin and Rahne stay silent. “You have not been on a mission without Rictor or Guido with our group,” she says.

“What does that have to do with Madrox bringing a dupe to breakfast?”

M steeples her fingers together in front of her nose. “Jamie usually eats double portions. Especially for breakfast. Especially for missions.”

“I still say it's just because he really likes pancakes,” Darwin cuts in from around Shatterstar's shoulder. “Not everything's deep, M.”

“Why does he not do that with Guido and Rictor?”

“Nerves? Guido doesn't let go that the dupes have their own budget for office snacks,” Rahne offers.

“But why not Rictor?” Shatterstar presses.

All three of his tablemates shrug and look away from him. M drums the table in front of him. “We don't know. Ask him, if it's that important to you.”

Shatterstar nods and checks the cameras again, feeling like there is something that all of them know but he is not privileged to know. He shrugs it away for later. It is unpleasant to be filmed, he muses while guessing the angle of the camera above Darwin, but there's the fact that most Earth surveillance equipment is highly incompatible with technology from his original world. Shatterstar’s certain they could use the footage, but it is impossible to read the encrypted information of his copyright and trademark through them. He knows; he's checked.

“Don't be so excited for breakfast!” “I'm back, Rahne, hop up?”

Two Madroxes return to their table. Rahne ends up between them; Madrox’s backpack on the floor at the end of the booth with the dupe. The waitstaff notices them quickly and whooshes away again with their drink order.

“What are you planning on getting?” Darwin almost bumps against Shatterstar's shoulder. 

Shatterstar has not even opened the menu.

“Eggs and hash browns and toast,” he lists, mildly distracted by how Madrox, the dupe, and Rahne lean around each other, mostly that they seem to all be aware of Rahne's talent in wiggling her ears. 

Darwin frowns at him, thoughtful. “How do you take your eggs?”

“You are not the waitstaff,” Shatterstar says lowly.

There's a beat and half where Darwin looks him over; some decision whirling to conclusion. “Star, let me order for you.”

Indignation flares with the upper edge of Shatterstar's lips pulling back. “I am not helpless, Darwin,” he states. He continues before Darwin can cut him off. “I _like_ this.”

Darwin set his face; chin a bit forward, lips pressed together, face held so that his gaze slants down at Shatterstar. It's not anger; the fire in his eyes is not fury, but stubbornness. Shatterstar has learned to recognize the difference. “Just this once, Star. You do not have to eat it. And I will take your preferences into account. Just once. Trust me with something other than your life?”

It's said like a gift. There's an offer, and part of Shatterstar recognizes this as a social thing. He briefly wishes Rictor were a morning person. Darwin is not exactly incorrect that Shatterstar trusts him with his life.

“I do not eat soup or soup adjacents,” he says, ignoring the hand Darwin had offered. “No yogurt or oatmeal or such. I would also prefer to not eat pig if it can be avoided.”

Darwin nods slowly, and Shatterstar catches the dupe staring at him, some realization happening. “No spoon food and no pork, got it.” Shatterstar returns the dupe’s stare, at least he's fairly certain it's the dupe. He notices the waitstaff returning, and there's a lurch in his stomach.

Shatterstar is willing to give Darwin this chance, but his insides still twist. He excuses himself to the restroom, carries himself well because he can feel the people's eyes on him. Tells himself that they only watch because human sight evolved to notice movement. 

In the restroom, he does not have to deal with Darwin talking over him to give their orders. Shatterstar frowns and presses one fist against his lips.

For a second it plays out in his head if he had stayed. He doesn't know what Darwin would say to explain why he is ordering for Shatterstar. Vaguely imagines him talking around Shatterstar, over his head, or through him, like he's not even there. His heartbeat skips painfully to think about how his teammates might go along with however Darwin would choose to relay the information.

He has rarely minded Rictor speaking for him in public, and people tend to read how they curve together as couple-like, assuming that is just how they are. Rictor has only ever corrected teammates and Xmen, while Shatterstar tends to ignore. He does not mind being spoken for; spoken over seems to be a different subject.

Frowning deeper at the mirror, he pulls his hand away and plucks at the stray curls around his ears. He scrapes his fingers back and enjoys the feeling of his hair being long enough to be caught between them. He sighs and considers the scenario again. 

_Rictor, who would speak for him and keep him in the conversation, is at home. Darwin has offered to speak for Shatterstar in Rictor's place, but without implication nor promise of keeping him in the conversation. Shatterstar does not want to be spoken over, and fled, forcing the social rules to dictate that Darwin is speaking for Shatterstar because he is not present, not because…_

Shatterstar has since stopped looking in the mirror; he picks harder at the not-yet-curls above his left ear, where the braids were originally plaited from; right arm tucked across his chest.

_...because Shatterstar is not part of the conversation._

Putting words to it does not make it feel better, despite that Shatterstar has controlled the situation. It doesn't resolve it, so he tucks the situation to the back of his mind where he keeps the scenarios that puzzle him. He feels only marginally better.

Shatterstar heaves a sigh and holds up his hands, double checking that he did not bite through the skin anywhere and that he did not make his hairline bleed. His teammates tend to make tangible awkwardness between them when he shows up with his own blood under his nails.

* * *

M nods when she notices him moving back towards towards them. There’s a shuffling of feet and not-quite-accidental, but still-friendly bumping of knees when Shatterstar drops back down into the booth.

“You could have stood up and made this easier on all of us.”

M purses her lips. “And miss you falling backwards almost on top of Darwin? Never.”

“She does have a point; it was funny,” the dupe nods. Shatterstar kicks his shin under the table.

The dupe lets out a squawk and lays his head on the table.

“Please tell me that wasn’t his right leg,” Jamie stares in pity at his dupe. “I need that leg to drive.”

“As if you trust anyone besides yourself to drive, Jamie,” M chides.

“I **am** Jamie,” the dupe mutters, sitting back up. “Food incoming.”

There's a quick flurry of movement to make obvious space on the table. Darwin snags up the white papers of drinking straws. They're suspiciously compact like spitwads.

“Pancakes with strawberries?” The dupe raises his hand and accepts his breakfast. A second plate of pancakes goes to Monet. Darwin accepts a modest omelette, and Rahne's plate is mostly meat with a pile of hash browns.

Shatterstar is handed his plate after the Actual Jamie takes his plate of something that looks atrociously sweet. His own plate is mostly brown, hashbrowns and eggs with gleaming yellow centers, some brown fried thing, and a small bowl of fruit. He vaguely hears M asking the waitstaff for powdered sugar. His breakfast is almost what he would have ordered for himself.

It unnerves him.

He turns the plate around several times, even when M is brought the shaker of powdered sugar and snarks at Rahne and Darwin that the confectionary sugar on pancakes is like eating funnel cake for breakfast. Jamie and the dupe both have an arm on the table, like a barrier between their plate and Rahne. They never pick up a knife. He notices all these things instead of eating.

Shatterstar looks back at his own food, pick up the fork that feels weird in his hand and prods the yellow part of the eggs. They rupture and drip across the rest of his food. He rescues the bowl of fruit and holds it high, close to his mouth and eats it by hand slowly, still regarding his breakfast.

“You doing alright, Shatterstar?” Darwin asks.

With a slow shake of his head, Shatterstar disagrees. “Glitch in the matrix. Tell only I would recognize. Just barely off, like a dream. Like _Inception_.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Darwin’s eyes do not say he understands. “Eggs with runny yolks taste good mixed with the potatoes. Your breakfast meat is country-fried steak. It’s cow, like most burgers are, covered in breading. I’m glad you like the fruit; I hope you like the rest.” He returns to his breakfast, talking to Jamie about travel and paperwork. Giving Shatterstar space to, figure out the tell on his own.

His fingers brush the bottom of the bowl, and Shatterstar frowns. He sets it in a clearer space on the table. M has acquired a new stack of pancakes. She, like the dupe, doesn’t cut them with a knife, instead holding the fork sideways and creating cuts with a jerky twist of the wrist.

He mimics her on the fried thing. It does not cut easily this way, but it is still easier than fighting with both utensils and the vague shake in his hands that happens when he sleeps without eating after healing. It’s not like he hasn’t used this technique before. He is just tired and generally prefers to eat waffles by hand with M in the kitchen at 5 am and dip them in syrup. There are less dishes that way, she’s explained.

He does not cut bite sized pieces, instead stabbing the larger chunks and eating around it. The steak is crunchy and a bit dry, but tastes good. The edge where the egg yellow dripped onto it is weird and soggy; he eats around that part. It tastes good and makes the steak itself less dry, but the soggy breading is unpleasant.

He is not expected to clear the plate.

The eggs are easy. He does as Darwin had mentioned, that they taste good eaten with the hashbrowns and swirls them together on his plate. The egg whites tear easily and mix well. He curls forward, arm on the table like Madrox, and eats. It is nice to chew. This IHOP has wonderfully crunchy hash browns.

It is better than expected, even if the egg yellows leave an odd texture on his teeth.

His plate is mostly clear when Monet moves to switch her plate with his. Shatterstar reminds himself to smash her hand to the table with the edge of his hand and not the fork.

“Easy, Shatty. I’m just trading you two pancakes for the last 4 bites of your eggs. They don’t even have butter on them.”

“Thank you,” he nods around the food in his mouth. He moves back from over his plate and accepts Monet’s. He steals the syrup from the dupe and pours it into the empty fruit bowl. _Less dishes that way. **And** they will not be soggy_. He eats the pancakes rolled up and dipped in syrup like tortillas. Fluffy and sweet and he thinks to himself that maybe he and M should have pancakes instead of waffles because then there is no beeping of the waffle iron to alert other teammates that they have made food.

* * *

Rahne is actually the last to finish eating.

It is, over all, a good meal.

Darwin looks far too smug for his own good when he pays for the meal on the corporate card. Shatterstar pretends it is because he beat Jamie and the dupe to paying. They are weirdly competitive about that.

He does not miss IHOP when they drag their belongs out of the motel. He will not miss the motel.

Shatterstar texts Rictor good morning when they pull onto the interstate just after 11.

He is full and happy to be headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to see people excited about this fic and leaving such fun comments!  
> I'm here for a good time!

**Author's Note:**

> I can still be found at [moreroads](moreroads.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> Here's the deal: I rely heavily on fanon characterizations.  
> I do not have the time or ability right now to fall entirely in love with every character and do them the justice they deserve.  
> I'd rather just write fic using popular knowledge.  
> If there's something heavily offensive (racism, homophobia, etc.) please let me know.
> 
> I'm here for a good time.  
> I'm gonna be here for a long time.


End file.
